


Aftershock

by Woad



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616, New Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: cap_ironman, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, New Avengers Vol. 1 (2004)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4295442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woad/pseuds/Woad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genius comes with no guarantee against accidents.</p>
<p>Cap IM Tiny Reverse Bang Codename: BREAKOUT</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftershock

**Author's Note:**

> For @[onebilliondollarman](http://onebilliondollarman.tumblr.com)'s brilliant art, ["Deeper Scars"](http://onebilliondelights.tumblr.com/post/122404968680/my-submission-for-the-capim-tinybang-the-keyword). 
> 
> Warnings for: scarring, descriptions of blood and injuries leading to scarring, and hints of ableism

"I know what I'm doing," Tony insisted, raising a hand clad in a work glove to waggle the safety glasses on his head. He had his feet kicked up on his desk, reclining as he waited for the computer to finish mapping a 3D schematic from Stark Industries’s blueprint archive.

Despite Tony's rampant enthusiasm, Steve didn't like the situation. Not one bit. His stomach roiled with an ominous sixth sense as he glared at the faint green glow of the stasis field. It shimmered around a  basketball-sized silver orb, keeping it suspended in the air several paces from the desk.

"What if it's booby trapped?" Steve asked, pacing around the field.

"Then I think it would have done something _before_ we confiscated it from AIM's basement."

"Trojan horses--"

"Usually aren't stamped with the Stark Industries logo my dad used."

"I smell a trap."

"That's actually the subtle smell of daring and discovery. But I can see how you would confuse the two." Tony grinned impishly at Steve.

Steve's mouth twisted into a grimace. "We could call in Hank or T'Challa--"

"Steve," As he stalked past Tony's chair, the engineer tugged at Steve's hand, drawing him down for a peck on the lips. "Quit fretting and leave the engineering to me. Don't you have a mission report to go file?"

Steve kissed him back, frowning at both Tony’s jab and the thought of being stuck at a computer for the next several hours. "I'm not fretting."

Tony inclined his head in a way that made it very clear he disagreed.

"What's the stasis field rated for?"

"One of my hand cannons. According to Dad's notes, this thing should barely even rate in the same category. Whatever AIM may have done, they can't have been able to boost the power output _that_ much."

Steve fidgeted, his worries stubborn.

"Look," Tony picked up a half-disassembled gauntlet from his desk and pointed it at the stasis field. It let off a concussive blast that left a ringing in Steve's ears and a bright after image on his retinas.

The shield held, and looked none the worse for wear.

"So, after that demonstration," Tony made a show of looking at the clock. "I'd say it's report time for you."

"Why do I always get the boring jobs?" Steve grumbled.

"Because you're too nice to delegate them to other people."

Well...Steve supposed there was some truth to that. He lovingly ruffled a hand through Tony's dark hair. "Okay. I give up. But don't stay up too late on this."

"I promise, _Mom_." Tony rewarded him with a smack on the ass as Steve turned to go.

"Just for that," Steve paused in the doorway to deliver his parting shot, "I'm making you file the report next time."

#

Steve had nearly finished describing how the team had uncovered a stockpile of AIM weapons -- custom modified no less -- in a basement on 42nd street. He’d just started the appendix with an inventory of all the items they'd found when the explosion rocked the tower.

The klaxon alarm started seconds after, along with the pre-recorded message for tower visitors: _"Please carefully and calmly make your way to the nearest exit. A fire has been reported in the building."_

Steve followed insofar as that he scrambled out of the Avenger’s monitor room.

But rather than take the stairs all the way to the ground floor, Steve homed in on the 14th floor -- to Tony’s lab -- his heart racing faster by the minute, because the smell of smoke grew stronger with every stride he took.

Guilt and fear flooded through Steve. Why hadn’t he listened to his gut? If the unthinkable had happened--

He put the thought from his mind when he reached the door to Tony’s lab. He yanked on the handle, but the door refused to budge. Not that that mattered. A swift, powerful kick from a supersoldier was enough to splinter it inward

The smoke was thick inside, a black, tar-smelling cloud so acrid it made his eyes water. Steve crouched low to the floor and hiked the neck of the t-shirt he was wearing up over his mouth and nose, trying as best he could to block the smoke.

Even though it was Tony’s domain, Steve knew the layout of the lab by heart. He first made his way to where Tony’s desk had sat. It was a shattered ruin of wood and glass now, and Steve felt his heart thudding in his throat at seeing the destruction. But Tony wasn’t there, and though the sting of the smoke in his eyes made it difficult to see, Steve couldn’t make out any blood.

“Tony!” His voice was raspy and choked.

He heard something shift across the lab, something heavy moving across broken glass, and Steve followed it like a thirsty man following the sound of a river.

The hunched figure he found could only be Tony. Steve scooped him up and didn't linger. At this point everything was a race against smoke inhalation.

_He has to be alive. He has to be --_ Steve thought, desperately.

It wasn’t until after adrenaline had carried Steve down the stairs and out into the sunny blue afternoon that he saw just how badly Tony was hurt.

He was was a bloody mess: abrasions covered most of his upper body, and bled bright red. At least one cut on his arm looked deep, seeping out a deep arterial purple. He pressed the hand that wasn't supporting Tony to the wound, trying to staunch the flow. But the hardest wound to look at was Tony’s face. Bits of something sharp and clear were lodged just below his left eyebrow, and Steve realized with a sickening jolt that they were shards of Tony’s safety glasses.

“Steve?” He could hear Jess, and the worry in her voice. “We wondered why you weren't at the rendezvous point--“

Steve cradled the good side of Tony face against his body, trying not to squeeze anything too tightly for fear of breaking bones. In absence of adrenaline, panic was setting in, and his throat felt like it was sticking together. “Jess, get me an ambulance or a flier -- now!” he shouted. It was so much easier to let the soldier take over. “We have an Avenger down -- Tony’s down.”

#

Steve wasn't there when Tony woke. In retrospect, that was inexcusable, but his blood had been running hot when Spiderman brought news of another AIM nest in the city. Steve had wanted to punch something -– particularly if the something wore a yellow rubberized uniform.

When the nurse told him Tony was awake, Steve had been ecstatic. Seeing Tony sitting up, mirror in hand, was even better.

Tony’s left eye, or rather where it would have been, was masked behind a dark eye patch. The swelling on his face had receded further and was beginning to reveal a pale scar from the top of Tony’s nose up to his hairline. But at that moment, Steve thought that nothing was quite as beautiful as the smile Tony turned on him.

“There you are.” A wink from the right eye greeted him, warm and amused. “You are a terrible bedside attendant.”

Steve felt his face flush red as he drew close to take Tony’s hand. “I’m sorry--how are you feeling?”

“I don’t think I can feel my toes. But that might be all the narcotics they’re pumping in me.”

“I can assure you that you still have all ten.”

“Oh good, I was worried after--” Tony pressed his lips together and broke off the thought. “They tell me after the swelling goes down all the way I’ll still have _most_ of my good looks.” He glanced in the mirror and added with mock revulsion, “But I’m going to have to figure something else out. I look like Fury.”

Steve shook his head ruefully. “I’m just glad to have you back, Tony.”

Tony smiled at him again, and put the mirror away.

Steve should have known -- should have suspected that with time to digest his loss alone, Tony might compact his emotions, hide them and bury them down deep.

But for that moment, lost in Tony's smile, Steve thought everything would be just like before.

#

Steve dropped a thumb-sized piece of glinting, purple metal into a bag. He wondered, idly, whether Jess would want the borrowed pair of tweezers back after he told her what he'd been using them for.

Tony had been home for scarcely three days, and it was the Avengers first call since the accident: a search and rescue from a crash site, high in the Adirondacks. If it hadn’t been for the 30 foot trench littered with fragments of the space ship’s hull, the sweet pine smell in the air and the cool breeze would have seemed downright peaceful.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) there was no sign of crew -- either within the wreck, or in the woods around the site. Logan had the burrs in his uniform from tracking through the brush to prove it. The ship was definitely not terrestrial, but Tony’s armor couldn’t identify which alien race had made it. He couldn’t even identify the metal it was made out of. Hence the collection.

“Completely new compound,” Tony said, sounding impressed. “Either we have neighbors experimenting with new alloys, or this is from a group we’ve never encountered before.”

“You want to head back now to do the analysis?” Steve asked, holding out the bag to Tony.

The engineer considered it, then shook his head. “Actually, I think it would be better to send it to T’Challa. It’s been a long time since we worked with him. Couldn’t hurt to keep channels open with our old friends instead of calling them in at the last minute."

Steve couldn’t exactly disagree with that. Nevertheless, he felt something nagging at his gut -- just as it had that night in the lab.

“You don’t want another compound named after you?” He tried playfully.

“I’m running out of names to give things,” Tony laughed. “See you back at base.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, watching as Tony streaked across the sky, a blur of red and gold.

#

Steve soon found out that Tony wouldn't let himself be seen without the eye patch.

Rather than press the issue, Steve decided to give him space, even though sleeping with the patch on looked like the least comfortable thing in the world. Showering with Tony was also off the table, which was...well, disappointing. Steve had some wonderful memories of tandem showering.

But aside from that, and Steve’s misgivings out in the Adirondacks, things seemed normal. Tony still made jokes. He was still going in to the office. He still made wildly inappropriate comments that made Steve’s ears turn red. And he was actually eating three meals a day, up from his average of one and a half.

So it wasn't until a week and a half had passed, when the first post-accident combat alert went off, that they had their first argument on the matter.

Both of their Avenger’s IDs began rattling against each other on the bedside table sometime after one in the morning. They had been draped around each other in bed, and Steve had had the easiest time extricating and arm, so he was the first to reach his ID. He clicked the display on with one thumb, and squinted a bleary eye at the report Luke had just sent out.

“Hostiles reported in Minsk. Possible Hydra affiliation.”

“Belarus?” Tony asked, voice thick with sleep. “What would Nazis want with former Soviet territory?”

“Any number of things. Your guess is as good as mine,” Steve said, already slipping into his uniform.

“Please tell me we can call Natasha in,” Tony grumbled, groping his way out of bed to one of his wardrobes. He was pale and naked in the moonlight filtering through the open window. “My Russian is rusty.”

“Tony--“ Steve finished pulling on one of his red gloves. “We haven’t had a chance to test your responsiveness in the field.”

But Tony had already keyed in his code. Before Steve had even finished the sentence, the wardrobe had opened, the armor cocooning around Tony snug and tight. The faceplate remained open long enough for Steve to catch the full weight of Tony’s glaring blue eye.

“I’ll do just fine.”

Steve felt blood pound in his ears. “I’m not implying you aren’t capable. But as team leader I want to set a baseline--”

“The baseline was where I was a month ago.”

Tony made long, clunking strides across the room. So Steve stepped between him and the exit. “No, sit this one out. It’s barely been a week since you came home.”

Tony’s voice came out as a deep growl. “I’m maimed, not blind, Rogers. You don’t get to leave me behind. So either get out of my way now, or meet me there later. Your choice.”

Steve had to take a deep breath and consciously unclench his hands from the balled fists they’d become. “Then at least promise me that if anything goes south, you’ll retreat.”

“I’m a big boy, Steve. I don’t need to promise anything.”

“Promise, or I’m calling in a long-standing favor with NORAD.”

Tony shut his eye for one brief moment, before his gaze flicked back to Steve’s. “Fine. Now move. We’ve lost enough time already.”

#

Maybe, Steve reflected, he had been too worried.

They subdued the Hydra agents quickly, and in good shape. No one on the team was seriously injured. Tony had taken damage to his left gauntlet -- it was fizzing and sparking from where the outer red layer had been peeled back like a can lid -- but that was all. The mission was a resounding success.

As they boarded the quinjet to head back to New York, Tony paused on the loading ramp, giving Steve a confident cock of the head and a smirk, his scarred left eyebrow raised as if to say, “See?”

“You’re still training with me tomorrow,” Steve whispered, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to those quirked lips before heading to the cockpit.

#

True to his promise, Steve went looking for Tony the next day. But Tony wasn’t in his lab, which looked uncharacteristically clean. He also wasn’t in the TV room, sprawled out on any of the tower’s numerous couches with a laptop, or in the bedroom. And he hadn’t snuck out to work, either – Steve had checked with Pepper.

When Steve finally found Tony, it was in the monitor room, staring hard at a blinking cursor.

“Are you actually writing the incident report for yesterday?” Steve asked, dumbfounded.

Tony frowned at him, and then back at the screen. “You told me I’d have to do it next time.”

“And you actually listened?”

“Ha. What’s a more technical term for ‘busted up?’ ”

“Dispersed,” Steve said automatically.

“And that's why _you_ write the reports.”

Steve snorted. “You’re a quick study, Stark. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. But first, we have an appointment.”

“I thought we established yesterday that I could hold my own.” The engineer hunched himself over the keyboard.

Annoyed, Steve gripped the back of Tony’s chair, forcing it to swivel around so that he was face to face with the inventor. “Take a break with me, Tony. Fifteen minutes in the gym, shield and armor. It’s not a request.”

Tony’s eye narrowed, and for a moment they were locked in a wordless battle of wills. This time, however, Tony was the one to give in. He blew out a puff of breath, blowing a lock of black hair upward.

“Okay, fine.”

#

The gym door slid open with a hiss, and Steve raised his shield, ready to start the exercise. He was going to gather his baseline data -– whether Tony liked it or not -- because he needed to know how far, as a leader, he could push the other man. But when he caught sight of Tony, he frowned.

“You haven’t fixed the suit yet?”

The way the flap of metal was still bent back over the rest of the forearm piece, the left gauntlet still looked like a half-filleted fish.

“I’ll get around to it eventually” Tony shrugged.

“You don’t want to get another suit?”

“I’m good,” Tony insisted.

Steve dropped the shield down to his side as puzzle pieces began clicking into place.

“You haven’t been back down to the lab, have you?”

“I’ve been busy."

“So busy you decided to start writing the report without me riding your ass about it.”

“Interesting choice of words--"

Steve huffed, trying to keep his temper in check. He recognized Tony trying to turn the conversation for what it was -– and, _God… It all makes so much sense. ___

Tony had wanted to send the sample to T’Challa because he wasn’t working in the lab.

He was eating more often because he wasn’t holed up with a project that demanded every last bit of his attention.

He hadn’t fixed the suit yet because all of his tools were down in the lab.

“Are you afraid to go back down there?” Steve asked softly.

He expected a scoff or a deflection. He didn’t expect Tony to press his lips together, close his eye, and bow his head.

Steve’s shield clattered to the floor as he took the other man into his arms. It was almost a reflexive, unconscious move.

The red metal was cold against Steve’s nose. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Tony said, so low even Steve’s sensitive ears had trouble hearing it. “I was going to fix it on my own. Only--“ his voice faltered, pride choking off his confession of failure.

Was this why he had been so prickly about his position in the team? Was this why he had been afraid of Steve leaving him behind? Surely he had to know just how much he was worth, in or out of the suit, engineering or no.

“Tell me what you need, Tony,” Steve said, cupping his hands around Tony’s chin. “I’ll make sure you have it.”

The engineer pulled back, giving him a weak grin. “My toolbox would be nice start.”

#

The kitchen table became Tony’s defacto workshop. Logan was the only Avenger to complain. Steve had given him quinjet cleaning duty for a month, and Spiderman, Jess, and Luke all took that for the warning it was.

The table was currently strewn with bits of fabrication metal, hologram projections of machine substructures, and assorted screwdrivers, wrenches, and other tools. Tony was holding up a small silver object, puffed with pride, and doing a poor job of hiding it. He had been working on the mechanical eye night and day, ever since Steve had started ferrying things upstairs from the lab.

At the table with them, Stephen Strange looked entirely out of place in his sorcerer’s robes. He had a faint purple glow of magic cloaking him, and an amused look on his refined features.

“If you’re sure,” he said, taking the object from Tony. “But I thought you hated magic.”

Tony reached up, and with reluctance undid the eye patch. “Too much scar tissue for a normal operation.”

Steve tried to prepare himself, but it was still a shock to see only pink flesh where another bright blue eye had once been. The scar tissue had puckered, angry and red beneath the silver slash from Tony’s scalp to nose. Steve had become accustomed to the patch over time, but this was a new adjustment for him all over again.

Perhaps it was his background in surgery, but Strange seemed unfazed. “Yes, I can see that now. Are you ready, then?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Tony slid his hand into Steve’s.

Steve squeezed, quiet and reassuring, and felt Tony return the gesture.

As Strange began uttering a string of syllables unlike any earthly tongue Steve had ever heard, the lights in the room dimmed. The silver orb glowed bright as a sun for one brief moment. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, it disappeared, taking every last bit of light in the room with it. In the next room, Steve heard the refrigerator rattle once before it’s constant hum died.

“Shit—“ Tony swore, tearing his hand from Steve’s. “Ow. Ow. That stings.”

“I apologize,” Strange said, conjuring a globe of soothing blue light. “I forget that that can happen when I’m surrounded by electricity. Candles are so much more reliable.” He said something else in that strange tongue, and the tendons in Tony’s fingers relaxed.

Tony blinked, looking up over his fingers, one pale blue eye, the other milky and silver, each glowing with a soft light that wasn’t coming from Strange.

“Did it work?” Steve tried to hide the worry in his voice.

Tony focused on him with both eyes. “More than worked,” he said, mouth agape in wonder. He tapped at his temple near the mechanical eye. “I can see in the dark now. I can see wavelengths I could only visualize in the armor up till now. It’s--amazing.”  Then Tony leaned in, whispering in Steve’s ear. “Thank you.”

“You’re the one who built it,” Steve whispered back.

“But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Steve felt a blush creeping up his neck, and cleared his throat, “Well, maybe we can put your new dark vision to use. We should probably find a way to turn the power back on.”

“You’re right,” Tony smirked. “I wouldn’t want to risk the wrath of Logan when his beer gets warm.”

#

“I’m not so sure about this,” Tony hesitated, half-way down the flight of stairs.

On the landing below, Steve waited, patient and calm. “We agreed we’d do it on your terms. If you want, we can head back up.”

Tony bit his lower lip. “I don’t want this to rule my life.”

“It won’t.”

“Yeah…” Tony set his jaw, descended the rest of the stairs and swept past Steve. The plain white lab door had repair bolts from where Steve had kicked it in.

“You won’t leave me down here by myself, will you?” Tony asked.

“No. I'll be right here. Always," Steve promised, taking Tony’s hand and following him through the door.


End file.
